I wrote this at a Church in Colorado Mountains

To the men who thought they could break me—
you tried, didn’t you?
Tried to bend me,
shut me down,
make me small.

And yeah—
maybe it worked for a minute.
But look at me.
I’m still here.
I’m still standing.
You never won.

I’ve gone toe-to-toe with giants.
Six-foot-five,
full of muscle and ego,
thinking size makes them God.
I’ve thrown their rage down the stairs.
I’ve swung the bat like a warning shot.
Facts.
That’s only two of them—
but trust me,
I’ve fought plenty more.

Too many boyfriends to count.
Too many wrong hands on me,
wrong words in my ear.
And I wonder sometimes—
did I like the pain?
Did I crave the chaos?
Masochist, sadist—
labels don’t matter.
Because now?
I’m just tired.

Tired of wasting years
on men who were never mine.
Tired of mistaking cages for comfort.
So I pray.
I pray that God sends me my person.
My one.
My soul’s twin flame—
if that even exists.

Soulmate.
Sounds pretty, doesn’t it?
But I’ve had cellmates, not soulmates.
Prisons, not forever.
But maybe—
just maybe—
this prison season ends with love.

I’ve been building a life,
brick after stubborn brick,
refusing to quit,
refusing to die in the rubble.
I swore I’d do it on my own—
but the roadblocks keep coming.
Maybe that’s God’s way of saying,
“You were never meant to build it alone.”

Still—
I don’t want to wait.
I don’t want to waste.
I’ve lost too much time already.

So if destiny’s listening,
if God’s got my name written down—
send him.
Send the man carved from my missing piece.
Send the one who doesn’t break me,
but builds me.
Because hear me clear—
I am ready.
I am waiting.
And this time,
I will not settle.